The HR Manual for Betrayal

When I got back to the place Sherry and I called "home," the door code was changed.

Called her. No answer.

Stood outside in the cold for half an hour.

Then she finally rolled up—with Daniel riding shotgun, dragging it out just to rub it in.

He got out first, rocking my limited-edition sneakers.

Clung to Sherry's arm, smirking like he owned the lease.

Sherry unlocked the door, all attitude. "What are you whining about now? Can't you see the company's a mess?"

I didn't say a word. Just headed straight for the bedroom, yanked out two suitcases, and started packing.

Opened the closet—half my stuff was on the floor. Daniel's clothes took over the rack.

He leaned in the doorway, smug as hell. "Sorry, Quentin. I've got a lot of stuff. Sherry said you barely used yours anyway, so we packed it up."

I bit down the fury and kept packing, one item at a time.

Then I saw it—the old Marketing notebook Sherry and I used to study with—jammed under a table leg.

I pulled it out, ready to toss it.

Daniel shrieked. "Don't touch that! That table's custom Italian, worth tens of thousands! You break it, you're paying!"

Sherry stormed in, finger in my face. "Quentin! What is YOUR problem? Pack your crap and leave!"

I snapped. "Did you forget how this company started? Who sold off their only inheritance to fund it? Who stood in a storm for eight hours to land our first client?"

Every word hit like a slap.

Her face lit up red. Not from guilt. From rage.

She tried to wipe it all clean. "Why dig up the past? I'm the CEO. My rules. You lived off me for nine years! Without me, you'd still be crammed on the subway! Who do you think you are, yelling at ME?"

That one cut deep.

I stared at her—face twisted with guilt masquerading as pride—and felt it.

I was done.

"Every bite I took, I earned. The deals I closed could buy a hundred of you. Without our sales team, your little empire's a hollow joke. Starting now, we're done."

I grabbed my bags and headed for the door.

She jumped in front, blocking me.

She whipped out a calculator like we were settling a bar tab. "Wanna leave? Cool. Pay back EVERYTHING I spent on you."

And she went off.

"This apartment—five years, $2k a month. That's $120k. Utilities and fees? $5k. BMW 5 Series? I paid in full—$63k. And—"

Daniel chimed in, fake helpful. "Babe, don't forget the $10k for his dad's hospital bill."

Sherry smacked her forehead. "Right! Add that too!"

With every word, my heart iced over.

I laughed.

Took off the Armani jacket she gave me. Dropped it right on the floor.

Pulled out a card, slapped it straight to her face. "PIN's your birthday. There's $200k on it. That cover it? If not, I'll take your precious BMW and crash it into a wall."

The card stung when it hit. She froze.

I shoved past her, dragging my bags without a second glance.

Behind me, her shriek followed like poison. "Quentin! You think walking out with your team matters?! I already warned every supplier, every client! No one'll work with you! You'll be broke by next week!"

Her voice was pure venom.

I didn't turn around.

If I had, I might've done something I couldn't take back.